Red Coals
by Dead-Kenny-Dead
Summary: I'm not sure what they were anymore. But they definitely weren't human. For mature audiences only. Will have smut. Companion piece to ketamine.methanol's "Skinwalker." Multiple Pairings.
1. tratS

High school. The whole thing could be blamed on High School.

Though in reality, what _couldn't _be blamed on that life-changing educational facility known as South Park High? Trivial things, I'm sure, but there's nothing trivial about the way his eyes flickered like night-shine, the almost too-careful way he strolled next to me, even down to the very tone he used when trying to get some sort of study notes from me. This...this thing was not Kyle Broflovski. The DNA is the same, but there was no way in hell that this was the boy I knew before.

Four years ago.

Four years and it all went to shit.

*~*

"Tch. What do we care about your precious little grade point average? All it's going to bring you is painted Barbie-and-Ken pseudo happiness." He flicks his red-streaked hair, takes another drag of his cigarette, and continues to look at us like we're the all-black wearing oddballs. "Us," at the moment just happens to be Tweek and myself. The kid's twitching no better than usual, probably made worse by the fact that I was a the closest thing to a friendly face he knew.

And let's face it. I don't even really _like_ the kid.

"Kyle!" He says my name like it's God; the only thing he can really cling to besides his wild straw-colored hair is the fact that I'm right here with him. "Ghn, let's just go! They don't want us here!"

And by them, he means the four black-hidden chain-smokers, also known as our Goth Kids. The youngest one can't be much older than Ike, but he's puffing away like the seasoned veteran he is. The girl, Henrietta I believe her name to be, sits parallel to him, fiddling with the stereo and chipped black fingernail polish. Red streaks just flick again, and he's answered by a nod from the taller, hook-nosed, curly-haired goth. Yeah, they don't want anyone here Tweek.

"They have what we need," I say in exasperation. "If anyone knows about crap like scary folk stories, it's gotta be them." Perhaps they were a bit miffed that I was speaking like they weren't there. But they could be ticked off for any other reason in between as well, so it wasn't like I was particularly doing their pride damage. They'd brush it off. "We can't find what we need in the library. Help us out."

Why Tweek and I had been partnered together was a mystery. Everyone had been partnered up with their usual buddies, except for us. Stan and Craig were kind of pissy about working with each other though, but I guess I kind of got it better. After all, I could have been stuck with Craig instead of Tweek. Though annoying, at least he's somewhat more human than that stoic bastard. And for this partnership, the blonde and I had to research old folk legends from the Native American culture.

Guess who didn't like sharing their cultural ghost stories?

"Fine," he says, more interested in ridding the two interlopers from their hallowed smoking grounds. How the goths would know this kind of information was sort of a mystery on its own, but they had proven to be fine, almost whimsical sorts of informants in the past. There was no reason to doubt their use now. "Find a way to pay for it and I'll tell you what I know."

He thinks he has me. He thinks he's got me pinned until I can find some way to please him. But they're so easy to predict, really. My hand reaches into my jacket, I hear Tweek shriek something about a gun, and pull out a pack of Camel Crush. Fresh still in the little plastic packaging that always sticks to your skin from the static. Menthol junkie he was, he raised his eyebrow and caught it easily as I threw it to him.

I'm a Broflovski. I do my homework.

"Cigarettes?" I hear Tweek squeak, "where did you get those!? Oh man, we're too young to be here; we're gonna get caught!" Nervously he fidgets with his own hands, anything to distract himself. To that I do feel bad, patting at his back very cautiously as not to alarm him. If anyone could calm him, it certainly wasn't me. He just grew quieter, more fidgety, practically shaking worse than a leaf in a storm.

We ignore his outbursts. If they haven't been caught by now there was a good chance that this would stay secret. As for how I had acquired the little sticks of cancer...well, Cartman did have his use from time to time. Even if it was for something as stupid as cigarettes at sixteen. Red just takes his time opening them up, flicking the butt of his cheap Ace brand cigarette to the curb as the white-and-teal patterned stick replaces it. He moves his fingers to the butt, feeling around for that little crystal of menthol flavor. We hear the click of it being squished miserably in a prison between tobacco and cotton filter, the flick of the lighter refusing to light quite right. Eventually, as the sentient beings always do, we win. And he claims his victory in a puff of minty smoke.

The other three are gracious when he remembers to toss them their own little shares of the profit. Heck, he's even in a gracious enough of a mood to offer two our direction. Tweek, hadn't it been for me, probably would have forced himself in some sort of fit of delusion of pressure to take it, but I raise my hand and shake my head before he can even give a little vocal spasm. "We don't smoke."

"A shame," he says between another puff. "Alright. Yeah, I know about a few old ghost stories. I don't know why you're asking anyways. It's fairly easy to pick up this sort of stuff."

Easy, perhaps, if you focused on death for a great deal of your life.

"Just start off with the basics. We have a few myths, but nothing to really explain them. Jersey Devil?" I motion for Tweek to pick up his pencil and his notebook to jot down the notes we'll need to compile his words into some sort of grade-worthy English report. Hopefully I'll be able to decipher the transcript later. Red gives a shrug, staring me down with hazel windows.

You can tell by the gleam in someone's eyes if they enjoy something or not. The eye is a dull, glassy orb with no shine to it when you don't have someone's interest. That's not what I saw here. I saw something actually alive in him, growing on the satisfaction that he could share his knowledge with us and actually be interested in what he was saying. Everyone has a passion. And his was born and bred with his lips.

"Jersey Devil. Or Leeds Devil, both names for one creature. I assume you already have what it looks like down; that's not too hard for a simpleton to find on the internet." He puffs, Tweek scribbles. I watch and wait. "There was a tribe that can be traced to the origins of it. The Lenni Lenape." The words roll off of his tongue like they were meant to be. And for a moment, this is more than a lesson on folklore. This is a lesson on Red's life.

"L-Lenni Lenape. Got it!" The hollow sound of Tweek's pencil scribbling away in abused fashion forces me back to reality. Keep focused. Had to keep Red talking; we only had until the pack was gone and at this rate there was little time.

We rattle off more names from the list. Wendigo. Coyote. Stories from different tribes, such as the Cherokee's "Origin of Medicine," The Apache's version of a Creation story, Inuit's Origin of Light. The more we bring up, the brighter Red's eyes shine, and it's to the point where I think that the Goth might have something human in him after all.

"Last one then," I say with a sigh. It's been a while, smoke fills the air causing Tweek to cough slightly and worry about death from breathing it secondhand. Two cigarettes remain, and both of them are for our crafted storyteller. "This one was tricky to find. Skin-walkers."

He raises his eyebrows. He's surprised. "Oh. You found out about those? I didn't expect you to." His head seems to be swooning from the information buzzing in his brain as well as the nicotine in his synapses. He's feeling good, we're getting the most we can out of him. It's a win-win situation. "Rather nasty little things. Mostly Navajo in origin. Quite possibly the most evil thing that plagued them. Who knows what to expect when your baby falls sick. Is it true illness, or is it a skin-walker poisoning it in its cradle?" He smirks. This tale he must enjoy telling, and the thought sends chills down our spines.

I'm not the only one to feel it. Tweek's gone quiet, actually, twitching less and focusing. Red's friends have stopped pretending to be uninterested, sending silent watching eyes to him. He's on the stage now, hidden actor. Even his friends, I find, have gone from pretending to be uninterested to giving him glances and stares, eventually just giving up on trying to remain mysterious and watch him take true form. A storyteller, a poet. He's got us wrapped around his words tighter than his lips on his cigarette.

"They're witches. Worst kind of folk. You don't speak of a skin-walker, lest you invite them to your doorstep. They rape nature, skin her children, and pervert them to their own bodies. They curse their tribesmen. They rape the bodies of the dead. They can be anything, though they mostly stick to wolves, coyotes, bears, the like. With but a whisper they can have the voice of anything, from a crying infant to a whisper you don't think you heard...oh, but you did. You just hope it was your imagination." Oh. You sneaky devil. You're getting off to watching us watch you. "They are, if not to be explained in more than one word, evil."

"H...how do you become one?" Tweek's voice is surprisingly smooth; he's as interested as I am. Understanding how we became interested was a mystery to ourselves as well as the people around us. We just...we just were. There was no other way to explain it.

"It's a four day ceremony," Red begins once again, glad for audience participation. "But you have to damn yourself. You have to kill your closest blood relatives. You have to steal their skins." Instantly my mind flashes to the images of Ike and my parents. A scary thought; I push it aside before I discover what path it wanted to take me down. "You have to be initiated by an elder skinwalker, or at least someone who knows the incantation. You're inducted then as a skin-walker; a _yee naaldlooshii_. You're invited to their Witchery Way. You're taught how to make corpse powder. Taught how to take the skins of the animals around you and graft them to your body. Your eyes glow like a beasts in the dark, always the color of red coal." Another minty puff joins in with the pollution of its forefathers.

I'm curious. "What else?"

Tweek's pencil isn't scribbling I notice, it's taking time in writing these details down. Probably word for word repeating every single word. "The legends dabble in everything. They're charmers. They're monsters. They are nearly immortal, powerful. Some say that to kill one, you need only know who they are. Some say the only way to kill it is to dip your bullets in white ash. Fire at the heart, blackest thing on them." He aims at me with his pointer finger extended, thumb sticking up like the hammer of a gun, and pretends to fire. Had I been in a better mood, I'd have pretended to die. "Some say that they cannot enter the home of someone that they don't know or haven't been invited to. The legends are all different at this point. Some say that they can even read your mind."

He's taken his time; the cigarettes are gone. Our brief meeting is over, we both feel it but for some reason we don't want it to end. We want to know more, we hunger for more. This too he seems to take into account, giving a nod and returning to ashy knock-off brand cigarettes. "That should be enough for you. Have fun in your Justin Timberlake wonderland."

"C'mon Tweek. Let's go." He's back to being jittery, giving a light squeal of surprise as I grasp his arm and pull him away. But I can feel it then, feel how interested he was as well. What was he thinking? The same thing as me? Why, why would something that sounded so horrible perk our interests?

But I've lost the nerve to bring it up as he shrieks about how he's late for dinner, which somehow becomes a story leading up to his father shoving him off in a crate to be shipped to Brazil with all the other child whores.

Damn it, Tweek.

*~*

My coffee's bitter. Not that it wasn't usually bitter; that's just the way coffee tastes. But ever since we've teamed up on this project, I haven't been putting any sugar in my coffee. Kyle's diabetic, right? Oh Jesus, it wouldn't be fair of me to have that around him! Creamer was okay though, right? Yeah, I could have creamer. I could have all of that as long as it was kosher.

Coffee's kosher, right?

"Tweek, gimme a hand," Kyle says to me, and I hold back the urge to yell out about the difference between kosher and non-kosher caffinated drinks as I shuffle from the small pile of books and shakily hover over Kyle's shoulder. "Read this report over, see what you think."

What I think? Oh God! He's trusting me? Me!? Jesus Christ! I might have repeated at least one of those short phrases out loud; I'm not sure due to the amount of anxiety currently bubbling up in the back of my throat like bad bile. But he says nothing as I read. I'm rather thankful for that; it's hard enough to concentrate when I can feel him there just judging me like everyone else. He's judging me, right? He is like everyone else, right?

"Ghn! It looks fine to me so far..." I continue reading, expecting more where Kyle has it end. "Y-you forgot something."

His hand reaches under his green ushanka, scratching at red curls of hair. I know this because I can see it out of the corner of my eye. Oh God, did I confuse him? "Did I? I got everything down Tweek. Right down to current spottings for the creatures."

No, no, that's not what I mean! "Ah, what about the skin-walkers?" I want to clutch at something in nervousness, and it takes me a moment to realize that I _am _clutching at something; the material on Kyle's shoulder is being attacked by my antsy fingertips. But he says nothing, and in fact he acts like I'm not even molesting him in the slightest bit of way! "You didn't...erg, you didn't even put them in the report!"

There it was again. That sort of calming chill that rippled down my spine as soon as I thought about it. Was it sick to be fascinated by such a horrible tale? I couldn't help it! Ever since we'd been told that tale, I couldn't help but think about them. I dreamed about twisted things gathering around my window, red eyes glowing and trailing like the night lights of cars. They scratched, they cried out, they screamed my name.

And I'd wake up in a cold sweat. But I wasn't afraid. I felt...invigorated.

"We already have enough from the others to give a decent oral report. It's just too much anyways. Stick with the softer stuff."

We've gotten pretty close over the week due to this project. I'd rather be with Craig right now, and I'm sure that Stan or Kenny would have been the first option before me, but there's a change in the air between us. Suddenly it doesn't matter that my coffee is hateful to Judaism, or that my taste buds are intolerant to Kyle's sugar-free universe. There's something in Kyle's voice that screams that I'm not alone in my dreams, something that I'm sure not even paranoia can bring about from normal conversation.

My paranoia also has a habit of making me tail the people I get to know, and I know exactly where Kyle gets those Camel Crush bribes and how often he's gone back to the goth kid to try to know more. He's interested, I'm interested. Maybe he thinks...oh god, maybe he thinks I'm afraid to ask?

"What did he tell you?"

"Pardon?"

I stumble over my own tongue, craving caffeine in the worst way possible. But something in my mind has overcome my usual trigger; has softened my voice and given me focus like nothing else. It's scary, frightening. But it happens. "The kid. You give him a pack a day to try to learn more about them, don't you?"

"What the hell Tweek? Are you spying on me!?" He looks offended, but I can tell that I've hit the truth. Well, I hope I have. I'm not very good at reading people. Perhaps I had hoped to see that I was right in the way he was internally fumbling over something; were they words of explanation or just attempts to hold in more horrible-sounding words? "...yeah."

"Any-ack-luck?"

Kyle takes his time to look at me, and all I see is a green gaze that could rival a clever cat. For a moment I imagine them in the dark, imagine _him _prowling around with a grin and a red glint to his eye. Perhaps I'm just a bit obsessed with the whole idea over the week. Maybe I'll get over it. But not with the way that Kyle's looking at me, cautiously thinking something in that head of his that I just can't unlock.

"He won't tell me anymore. Sorry." The tone is defeated, and Jesus! He looks just as disappointed as I feel. "He acts weird about it. Today at lunch he didn't even take the cigarettes. He just...acted like he was afraid."

"Afraid? Oh God, what could _he _be afraid of?!" My heart pounds in my chest as Kyle swings away from his computer chair, standing up even to my height. He might be lucky to have a few inches on me, but let's face it. Kyle Broflovski and Tweek Tweak are not the most masculine-looking boys in South Park High. We're short, we're scrawny, and it's at this time I realize how similar we actually could be, given the situation.

He crosses his arms, thinking again and leaving me to total silence. It would be total, anyways, if I could keep little nervous sounds from escaping chapped lips. "I don't know. But I think we should stop talking about them."

"Them?" I had to ask. If not, only to just hear him say the word once more.

At least he's willing enough to say it. "The skin-walkers. I don't know. It feels...well, it's not something that we should feel this way about." We? Ah, the pressure! He knows I feel it too! Wait...so I'm not crazy? I've never been so relieved and confused at the same time while still looking like I was going to have a heart attack and die right there. Kyle places his hand on my shoulder. "Look. Let's keep this between me, you, and Red back there. With all the crazy stuff that's happened before over the years, I don't think it's a good idea to look further into it. It'll just be our thing we never speak of."

Our thing? If it had been for anything else but a secret to keep, I probably would have felt giddy and special. The feeling that came was a sort of neutrality to it all; I didn't twitch but nor did I smile. Just thinking about them was...calming.

And we were both calm.

"O-okay," I said slowly, almost forcing myself to say it with a spasm because I felt too relaxed. "I guess so." I felt a sort of bond between us then, something that was very small but very unbreakable.

"Good," he says with a sigh as he leads us to the door of his room. "Now forget the studying. We'll be good for tomorrow. I know you're dying for a pot of coffee anyways." He starts going for our jackets downstairs, and when he's not looking I kind of smile.

We get along a lot better than I thought we did.


	2. rorriM

The thing about working with Craig was that he was boring. I mean, really, really boring.

So I wasn't his favorite person. He wasn't mine. No biggie. We were both mature enough to do this project like respectable adults; both able to handle the fact that Kyle and Tweek were probably having just as hard of a time dealing with it as we were.

"Toss me the book about Johnny Appleseed, faggot."

Adults, I reminded myself. We were going to behave like them...at some point. I took the green textbook and practically flung it at his head to get him to shut up about it and let me finish up typing our report. There's been a thick tension ever since we've been assigned to work together, and that was fine. I could deal with it. But I couldn't deal with the negative comments ever single sentence. It takes me a while to get to wit's end now, but here I was at the brink and holding on with the skin of my teeth to spare.

I pause my typing, spin in Craig's chair and cross my arms. Hell, he wasn't even paying attention to me due to the fact that his eyes were buried in the pages about old folklore that I didn't give a shit about if only to spite me and make me angrier about being ignored. I hated to say that it worked. And what pissed me off more was that I couldn't seem to get the same reaction out of him.

"Do you want me to leave so you can do this project by yourself?"

He licks his thumb and continues reading without answering me verbally; a shrug is all I'm worth.

Adult, Stan. Be adult about this.

Okay, so maybe Craig and I haven't been getting along because we both knew that Tweek and Kyle were getting along. Pretty well, actually. Knowing Kyle like we both did, he probably had the project finished by now, being as there was about a day left before the project was due. Even then, Kyle and Tweek had been pretty much close buds the past few days. Hell, Craig and I both knew that they probably would have gotten closer due to this, but not to the point where we felt kind of inadequate as best friends. This was the most logical reason behind our current level of disrespect towards each other. That, or Craig was still really miffed about Peru.

"Fucking say something!"

Craig lifts his head, and with one hand gives me the ever-famous finger. The whole maturity level possibly dropped to the point where I wanted to throw something else at him, but all I did was pinch at the bridge of my nose in exasperation.

"God damn it! Why do you hate me so much?" I turned back around, my drive to finish the last bit of text urging me on so that I could just get out of here for a while and avoid Craig Tucker.

"I don't hate you, Stan," I hear, voice not so nasally anymore but obviously still hinted with it. It would probably be gone in a few more years as we got older, and then there would be a new voice for Craig to insult through. I give him what I hope is a confused look, to which he's silent to but at least looking at me like I exist.

All this silence is going to wear on me. "You don't? Well you could have fooled me."

"Oh, I don't like you. But I don't hate you." He says it so simply. Then again, he's not much one for dramatic flair, if I remember. No, he's more about just getting what needs to be said out in the open, flip you off, then go about with his day. He sets Johnny Appleseed down in his lap, shoulders hunched up and legs sprawled out on his bed. "I just don't like you enough to be your friend."

I just have to get it out in the open. "This is about Peru, isn't it?"

He blinks. "It factors in somewhere."

I don't know why it bugs me, but damn it all it's practically gnawing at the base of my skull to make this up somehow. Hell, hadn't we already given him back the money we used? I thought we had. I remember the finger-flipping to be for _some _other reason other than the fact that he was pissed. Shaking my head, I sighed and gave him another chance to try to explain. "That was in elementary. Why can't you just let it go?"

He raises his eyebrows instead of his shoulders. "You haven't proven to me you deserve to have it be forgotten." The look on his face is enough to make even the most peaceful man punch a baby if given the same blank indecisive look Craig could give.

"Hard to do that when you won't give me the chance."

A roll of his eyes preempts his answer. "Then come by tonight. Bring what you can from your dad's booze cabinet." He has my attention, and I have his. "I'm having a party tonight. I figured Tweek was already going to invite Kyle. Might as well have you come along."

"Kyle won't go unless Kenny goes."

"Kenny doesn't miss a party," I hear him say with a bit of a tone that he probably uses for stupid people. That does wonders for my likeability of his character. "Bring some booze and keep Kyle from getting hurt by Tweek and I'll think about liking you."

I'm about to tell him to shove it up his ass before the last part catches me off guard. "...Tweek wouldn't hurt anyone."

"Normally," he says as he picks up the book and begins to go off into his own little world with it. "But you haven't seen Tweek after a bottle of Pendelton."

*~*

I don't know how I've done it, but I've managed to make it to one of Craig Tucker's parties. Which in itself is quite a feat, but Tweek assures me that as long as I'm with him Craig won't say a word. I begin to wonder what affect Tweek has on his own best friend before I spy Kenny and Stan off in the corner trying to outmatch Token and Clyde in seeing how many shots of cheap-ass vodka they can stomach.

I smile. If Stan can get in, I'm golden. But before I can get too comfortable in the atmosphere of just about every kid in our grade, Tweek grips at my wrist and I find myself being tugged into the somewhat sanctuary of the Tucker household kitchen. I'm sure he's not too comfortable with all of the other people around us, I've come to find that for a fact. But at least he's not so stressed out around me more.

He's not a bad kid to be around, now that we've actually gotten to know each other a little better. I know a lot more about him than I had before. Like, that he prefers old Terrence and Phillip episodes like I do. That his hair gave him as much grief as mine did to me. And that, unlike everyone else thinks, we've both been drunk before and realized that it was a bad idea.

But what the hell? He's got the bottle of Morgan out already, kind of nervous-looking but all the same showing me that other side of him that hadn't been for my eyes before. We're intent on finishing the amber-colored contents before the real drinking starts; we're here to get fucking smashed because no one expects it. We had both planned this out before even entering the door; grab a bottle of whatever and drink ourselves stupid as a giant conglomerating "Fuck you," to our friends.

Oh, we loved them. But after a while you get tired of being treated like a delicate flower.

For instance, as I felt Tweek pull me off to a side hallway with a twitch, that's another thing we had in common. We weren't the fat ones. We weren't the poor ones or the rich ones. We sure as hell weren't the tough ones. When people thought of Tweek and Kyle, they thought of the spaz and the Jew. That's what we were. Easy to push around. At least I had a temper that wasn't afraid to rear its ugly head when needed. But the blonde was more passive than I, and kept it all in.

"Jesus Christ he's gonna be pissed when he finds this gone!" He's unscrewing the cap nonetheless, despite the twitching and the little odd vocalizations. It's amusing sometimes to watch him, now that the inner workings of our minds have been compared and found to hold some of the same gizmos and whirly-gigs. He might be antsy about doing this, but the look in his toffee-colored eyes is telling me that he's doing this no matter what. His decision is final. I like that about him, about how even if he doubts himself when he makes up his mind he'll somehow set himself to do it. The bottle goes to his lips, and he scrunches his eyes as the liquor touches his tongue. The taste mustn't be too bad, even as he pulls back and shudders. Then it's my turn to take a swig, and oh god at least it's spiced.

"Holy shit, Tweek," I sputter, "isn't there any Coke in the fridge? Can't drink this stuff straight." I make a face as he takes the bottle back, fidgeting and taking a smaller swig. The look in his eye can match mine in a moment.

"Ghn, we gotta catch up with everyone else! You don't wanna be the only sober one here do you? Ack, I don't!" He drinks again, practically chugging at the thing like it's his coffee. And damn, you've got to admire that in a guy. And with another scrunch of a face it's my turn as he passes me the bottle. "Just get it over with man!"

Shit, the music's starting up and that means we're going to be found soon. The alcohol must already be working in Tweek's system because he's already calming down and going into a sort of intoxicated daze. Better join him. The bottle is easily finished, the little pirate mascot smiling up at us like we're some sort of brazen godly figures. I toss his smiling face in the trash, feeling pretty toasty and good by now as I help Tweek up. "C'mon. Let's...let's go find Stan and Craig." Tweek gives a grumble, shaking his head and heading back over to the whole basic bar set that all the kids have gathered from illicit-gained unguarded liquor cabinets. He's intent on getting us shit-faced, I can tell that as soon as he grabs the bottle of cheap whiskey as well as the tequila and begins to stumble back over.

"They'll find us sooner or later," he says in a voice that could match mine. He sounds so much more confident than before; perhaps they were right when they say alcohol doesn't make you do anything you didn't already want to do in the first place. "Just...just forget about them. Let's have fun. Me an' you."

Without even knowing how I got it the bottle of tequila is in my hand and the sour smell of alcohol tickles my nose as we both bring our poison to our lips in synchronized symphony. God I hate the flavor at first but there's something comforting about the after-taste that it makes me lick my lips and think about taking another sip without Tweek to follow. Shit, I'm feeling good now; my nose is numb and I'm leaning against the wall a lot more.

We don't need to have extreme tolerance to alcohol. We just need to get drunk.

I wonder to myself how we agreed to do this even if, for no other reason, it was to finally be able to relax around the other. He licks his lips, and the tell-tale sign of his poison of choice flickers in his eyes. Ah, whiskey? Tweek's never actually struck me as the type to like the taste of alcohol, but I'm a witness to it here and now as he leans against the wall with me. He's looking as good as I feel, a kind of half-smirk on his face that he undoubtedly picked up from either Clyde or Craig, because it's just too weird to see it on his face without thinking of the other two influencing him.

He taps his bottle against mine, possibly in mock toast or possibly to gain my attention. Either way he's got it. "Hey. Let's play a game. Like a drinking game."

Well Tweek, what else kind of game would we play? "Okay," I say because my curiosity is peaked now and I can't help it. "What kind of game?"

"A lame one," he admits before whiskey graces his lips again. "Ah, we'll swap secrets. Measure your drink in seconds dependin' on how big the secret is." He knows it sounds stupid, but we're young. Sometimes stupidity is amusing. I kind of smile, sliding down the wall so that I can sit on the cool tile floor. I'm grateful when he joins me, our shoulders kind of bumping because neither one of us really care about contact anymore. "Alright. You go first Kyle."

I tap the lip of the bottle against my chin, thinking of something that would be worth our little moment of fun. "How's this? I always cheat on my math tests."

He makes a funny kind of laugh. "Oh God really? Man, you're gonna have to show me how. Two seconds." He tilts the tequila in my hand up to my lips, and counts down the seconds as I taste the bitter liquid against my tongue. I cough almost immediately after he lets me lower the bottle, and I glare at him because that was just asking for payback. "Alright," I wheezed, pointing at him with one finger, the other hand too busy clutching the bottle away from Tweek. "Your turn."

With both hands around his own bottle like an infant with a bottle, I can tell he's not going to easily let me tip it to his lips like he had with mine. Damn it all, it's a stupid game but he's already cheating and I can tell it. He licks at his lips for a second, and I'm kind of transfixed on how the wet muscle moves against the slightly plump flesh. If he notices he says nothing, just like I've said nothing to him about his own little staring problem when it comes to my rear end. "I..." he trails off, like he's lost the thought and is now trying to fish it back up to the surface. "Oh, I've gone to school on coke before."

"You? A crack-head?"

He looks offended, frowning and practically growling out his next response. "Fuck no. One time thing. You got something to say?"

"Shit...shit Tweek. Just take it easy. Man, didn't mean anything by it." And that's the bad side of alcohol. My own temper kind of just boils underneath the surface of calm while Tweek's own emotions flip-flop worse than a fish out of water. "Just a little surprised. Two seconds for you too buddy." I want to reach over, and playfully I do reach over my hand. It touches the bottle, but he shoves me away with a laugh and drinks for as long as I deem two seconds. The alcohol's really hit us now, to the point where our drinks have tapered off into half-sips.

Oh, right. My turn. "So like...Tweek. Tweek man, what kind of secrets are acceptable?"

"Ugh, why do you gotta...why do you gotta put the pressure on me?" He looks worried, scratching at his nose and tugging a little bit at his hair as he thinks. Some habits about him don't drown with cold-filtered liquor. "Anything. Just say something."

"Some secrets man, some aren't meant to...to be...said, yeah. Said. You know?" I sip just to taste the alcohol again, fixated on watching him as he tries to make up some reason as to why I should delve deeper and share something so personal with him.

"Feels better if you do. I'll go again even." He raises the bottle, almost a dare and I can tell because he's flashing me this look that I've never seen before in his eyes. Oh yeah? I'm not backing down now man, not on your life.

"Deal."

Tweek kind of giggles, thinking of another secret. It's almost as fun to try to guess what the other person's going to say, but this time I'm left utterly clueless because he's already shown me that he's much more of a mystery than just a blonde, twitchy coffee-loving kid. Underneath that he wants to be more, and he can be angry and frustrated like the rest of us. He leans in closely, like someone could really hear us when they're all to busy dancing themselves to death and passing around shots of that god-awful bourbon I'm sure Stan took from his dad.

"I don't like girls."

What? I'm lost for a moment, and I stare dumbly at him. I've got tequila and rum on the brain, watering down my thought process. "You hate women?"

For a moment I think he's going to yell at me, but it's all in good faith when he rolls his eyes. "Dude. I'm gay. Fruity?"

"What? No way. Really?"

The whole thing seems so out of regular style for Tweek. No way, no way if he were sober would he have ever said that. He's fucking with me, he's gotta be because Tweek likes girls. Right? I mean, just because I haven't actually seen him with a girl before doesn't mean that. I mean, a lot of guys don't hook up with girls and are straight. Tweek's gotta be pulling my leg on this one, and I'm about to call him out on it before I give it another thought.

Wait. He does spend an awful lot of time with Craig. I mean, an _awful _amount of time. Damn alcohol! Frustrating when I want to think but I just can't because of it.

"Yeah. I don't like girls. How many seconds?"

He's leaning up against me, and even with that little bit of revelation the human contact isn't unwanted nor wanted. It's still Tweek, and there still seems to be some sort of boundary that neither one of us will cross with that little bit. "...ten." Ten seconds should be good enough, and maybe teach him a lesson, if there needed to be one, about lying in a game where he was supposed to tell true, real secrets.

He was lying, right?

I find myself unable to do anything but stare at his throat as he tips back the bottle back, his adam's apple slight but visible with each gulp. Hell, I almost forget to time him as I just kind of look at the way his eyes are softly closed, his lips puckered against the bottle, free hand in his lap as he lets the whiskey work its way down into his belly. We're both going to have one hell of a hangover if we continue like this, but hell, it's a party. "Ten," I practically whisper, my hand going to the neck of the bottle and brushing up against the hand. I felt the urge to just take it away from him, and the look in his light-brown eyes suddenly lights with a slight rage I've never seen before.

"Hey, hands off the Black Velvet," he growls, lowering the bottle into his lap and I just kind of let my hand follow. This puts us a bit closer, and hey, it feels nice. And despite the way I'm sure he's trying to scowl at me, I find myself analyzing his face. Very...slender. I'm sure somewhere on his face he's got some sort of scruff, most likely little scratchy blonde hairs on his chin that just refuse to grown elsewhere. Really that's the only sign of rough testosterone on him. He's just...pretty. I, Kyle fucking Broflovski, find that my new somewhat-friend is actually decent looking. "You've got the Sauza anyways, back the fuck off."

Does he even know how good-looking he actually is? We're close now, barely enough room to take sideways sips at our drinks. God if we weren't drunk before we're shit-faced now. And the words escape me before I can bottle them up and hide them away for me and me alone to know. "You're really pretty."

And what does any guy do when he hears that come from another guy? Gay or not, it's got to be grating on his masculinity. "Jesus Christ, no I'm not." He pokes at my chest with one finger, almost pushing me back but we're still close as ever. "C'mon now. You have to go. Catch up."

Oh. Yeah. Secrets. Well, Tweek's set the bar here, and now everything seems to be going at a pretty tame pace. My bottle of Tequila swishes as I bring it up, tapping it against its whiskey brother. "Fine. I've never slept with anyone." I eyed him, watching his reaction. A smirk, so slight it probably wasn't even a smirk but a twitch underneath the alcoholic fog settling in. "I guess that's a ten-second one?"

"I was gonna say seven, but yeah. Ten should do good. Drink up Kyle." I smell the difference between the whiskey and tequila then; it's on his breath and his face is really, really close to mine. We forget about that for a moment, because he's caught up in looking at me now too. I'm surprised we're both not slurring, but hey, not everyone's the same when they're drunk. "You...you're pretty too."

This sounds like the start of a bad one-night stand. Tempting, too much so for even me to ignore. In all reality I haven't given much thought about my sexuality, but the side of me that's hitting the booze like an old hobo is telling me that Tweek meets the criteria of what I like. Suddenly I find myself liking his eyes, the slim-lined features of his face and body almost matching mine. I'm a bit more jagged, not so soft. Perhaps that's just my heritage speaking through my genetics. We're getting closer, and I feel him breathing against me. I want this, I've decided as the hand that was still on his booze traveled to his hip. Somehow his hand is at my side, fingertips just brushing at my ribs. Damn the tequila, the rum, the whiskey, the vodka, damn every single ounce of alcohol on this planet. It had pushed me to a decision I'm sure I wouldn't have made otherwise.

"Holy shit dude."

Tweek and I snap our heads up to find three goofy-looking stooges smiling down at us. Kenny's hanging off of Craig because he probably can't even walk straight, and Stan's whole wardrobe is a mess. Wendy probably gave him a lap-dance in between body shots; I can tell he participated because he reeks of lemon. Kenny starts laughing, stumbling a bit and forcing Craig to correct himself even though the kid's probably as plowed as we are. Stan just whistles at us, laughing and moving in.

"Save the lovin' for later," he slurs, patting our shoulders roughly. Bit of a brute, that's what Stanley Marsh is. Oh yeah, I'm smelling the evidence left behind from Wendy's perfume on him, and damn it all it just kind of pisses me off that the moment I decide I'm going to try to get some these three fuckers just waltz in and break that. "You boys need to do some shots with us instead of hiding out in here with the good shit."

Tweek growls, pushing Stan back with his free arm and forcing my best friend to stumble back a bit. "Get the fuck outta here," he snarls at them, and suddenly I don't know if that's Tweek anymore. "Ack, just leave us alone." I don't know if his face is red from alcohol, from the fact he's pissed beyond pissed. Stan and Kenny kind of fall into a quiet hush along with me as Craig rolls his eyes and passes Kenny to Stan. He's coming closer, and sort of nudges his arms between us and begins pulling Tweek up and away from me.

"Up you go," he says in a sing-song voice, and even though Craig's got the blonde out-muscled there's no way that his emotional level could match Tweek's drunken rage. "Don't give me that look; you'll thank me later. Just behave yourself, man."

I feel two pairs of arms lifting me up, though it's more like one working pair and another that just ghosts around like their supposed to be helping. Stan's supporting me now as the world becomes one big, rocking ship; I'm swaying against him on one side and Kenny's just a mess on the other side. Hell, now that I'm in the mindset I find myself checking out my best friends. Stan's got the handsome look down; he's still a boy but he's also a man at the same time. Good. Wholesome. And supporting the biggest shit-eating grin I've ever seen. Kenny's got a lot of the same qualities I find myself liking. Blonde, I realize, is just fucking hot, and he shares some of the same soft facial features I found myself attracted to not moments ago. But it's Kenny, and everything about him screams unfed scarecrow. He's skinny even compared to me, bony like no other. If he could get a decent meal maybe he'd look more like he was able to handle puberty instead of looking like he was a breath away from flying away in the wind.

I can't help it, I grin right back up at Stan because it's infectious. "Hi."

"Hello to you too, Kyle," he says with a laugh, drawing out my name and tightening his grip around me and Kenny. Kenny's lost in his own little world, but I'm looking at him like some dreamy high-school hunk and I'm okay with that. At least I'm better off than Tweek is right now, because from the muttering I've drowned out he's just getting angrier and angrier.

And as soon as we enter the living room filled with kids, I can understand why.

*~*

I'm fucking pissed off. I'm pissed off because Craig keeps taking the booze out of my hands and replacing it with water. I'm pissed off because Eric Cartman's booming laugh just has that affect on people; he's a fat fuck sober and he acts like a fucking retard drunk. And I'm extremely pissed off that Kyle and I didn't even get to touch lips without someone barging in.

"Easy Tweek," I hear Craig say as he takes the shot of tequila away from me. "You're already pretty trashed. Water, water for right now." There's a little red plastic cup in my hand, and I'm paranoid for a moment to think that he's drugged it so I'll just go to sleep and miss out on the rest of the fun. That only fuels me to push it into his chest and drop it, the liquid and cup falling to the floor. He groans; he's put up with my bullshit before and he'll do it again now that there's more people around.

When he's bending over to pick up my mess I sneak in a good shot of tequila. Must be something good, it's a lot smoother than what Kyle had earlier. I lick my lips in satisfaction, hearing Craig groan behind me and I know he wants to just say fuck it and leave me be.

"Stop it," he warns, trying to pry the empty glass from my hands but I just keep pushing him away. It's my damn glass and I'll fucking hold it if I want to. "Tweek, give me the damn thing."

"Up your ass!" I say, possibly too loudly for a two-person conversation. Clyde looks over at us, nose red from the amount of Burnett's Vodka that he's ingested. For a moment I think it's Craig that flips him off, but I realize that the skinny hand is mine and lower it with a bit of reserve. So what if I'm a bit of an ornery drunk? Everyone can get a temper from the alcohol once in a while. Craig's got his arms on my shoulders, shaking me a bit to grab my attention. Well he's fucking got it as I glare right up at him.

And maybe he's pissed off too. Do I feel bad? Not in the slightest. I will later on, when I'm not feeling so brave anymore and all that I want to drink is coffee and water. "You're being a complete douche," he says, and I know it to be his warning tone. "Calm the fuck down or you're spending the rest of the night sleeping off your hangover in my room." His indigo eyes bore into mine. He's absolutely serious. I don't doubt that for one precious second.

"Alright," I say with an aggravated tone, freeing one hand to tug at my hair habitually. "Jesus Christ, Craig. It's not like I'm...I'm throwing punches." I wanted to, but this luckily didn't get past my lips. Or if it did, then I was lucky enough to have Craig not notice and just speak as if it didn't pass my lips.

"I wouldn't put it past you at this point. Just stay put, I'm getting you more water." He makes me sit on the couch, and my gaze goes to Cartman and Kyle. They're both hammering away shots of whatever Token pours, gaze intense and challenging. Their little spats are normal, but at this point I can see Kyle losing. We're both going to be feeling this later, either that or someone's going to have to hold his pretty red hair back when he's praying to the porcelain god.

Well speak of the devil. Kyle's not looking so good, a bit green around the gills. There's Kenny, so trashed that I doubt he even knows his own last name, but at least I can give him some credit. He's hanging off of Kyle, eyes swimming with booze but looking concerned for the state of his friend. And there's Stan, trying to bat away Cartman from egging Kyle on in this drinking competition as well as stealing their shots when he can. The alcohol's hit him hard by the way he sways while he sits, trying to focus some sort of anger on Cartman that he just can't seem to find.

It pisses me off. I should go over and help.

"I thought I told you to stay put." I feel an arm go around my waist, Craig's nasally voice in my ear, another red plastic cup with water in it being shoved in my hands. Unless it can get me trashed, I don't feel like drinking it. But do I have a choice? No. The thing is brought to my lips, and my intake of oxygen is cut off by water spilling over my lips, dribbling down my throat inside and out. Motherfucking Craig Tucker's going to be the death of me at this rate!

And he's such a hypocrite. I smell the booze on his breath, see him staggering a bit. He's drunk. He can take his goddamn water himself, and before I know it that's just what I do. The cup is at his lips, and I've shoved it past his gritted teeth to let the plastic cut little lines into the sides of his mouth. Let him choke on the water. I don't know I throw a punch into his gut until he's on the ground writhing, Clyde and even Butters standing up to see the commotion. Sorry Craig. You're in the way.

It's not a big scene, just a couple of people witnessed that I've thrown my first punch since grade school. But with every laugh and taunt that Cartman shouts to Kyle, I feel myself stepping closer and fuming more than I ever have before. I have to be quick, grabbing a bottle of god-awful Jack Daniels and wielding it in my hand. The booze is spilling out as I tip it upside down; I hear Bebe complain at first before voicing some concern. I'm staggering; I have to be quick before I get pulled away for the night. I'm itching for a fight, and Eric Cartman just happens to be who I'm going to pick it with.

I don't know why, really. Maybe it's because he's taunting Kyle. Kyle's too nice of a guy, you know? And he can't really defend himself in this state. The bottle leaves a good sound against the fat fuck's skull as I smash it down with all of my strength. It's not enough to knock him out or break the bottle, but it's enough for him to snap his attention right to me. Hell, everyone has their eye on me now as I yell out something which I think is a taunt.

"Are you fucking nuts, Tweek!?" Cartman's holding the back of his head. Good. I got blood. The only thing I really regret right then and there is the fact that now everyone knows why Craig usually forbids me from parties. Oh well. I'll go out with a bang. Or a fist to my face, with the way Cartman's standing and looking at the blood on his hands. Fuck. Maybe this was a mistake.

Kyle somehow manages to get his inebriated body between us, trying to push Cartman back. "Dude what the hell?" Then there's Stan, Kenny, hell I think I even see Token trying to hold Cartman back. Oh yeah, I've angered King Kong now. C'mon fat boy, let's see you throw a punch at me.

"I said leave Kyle the fuck alone!" Ah, so that's what fell from my lips earlier. I swing the bottle and it misses; there's someone holding me back now and I twitch. My legs kick out when I realize Craig's growl in my ear, Clyde's hand wretching the bottle away from me and even Jimmy as I see a flash of his crutches trying to instill some sort of peace amongst us all. I'm in deep shit and I know it; there's hell waiting for me in the morning. But screw just giving up like normal. I flail more, the fight still in me as I try to elbow out of my best friend's grip. It isn't working.

As sudden as I had wanted to fight it was gone. What? I'm being dragged to Craig's room, but Kyle's walking next to me. "Yeah...yeah, I'm okay. I need a break anyways," he tells him, and it's then I realize that I'm between them both while being lead away.

Must be my lucky day.

I'm set on the bed, Kyle sitting next to me with one very, and I mean very pissed off looking Craig glaring down at me. "Just keep him in here until he sobers up a bit. At least he's not gonna hit you. I think." He's done talking with me; his words are for Kyle but that gaze is for me. Even drunk, he's not going to forget this. "Just hit him back if he tries."

As soon as the door closes I feel a very confused, angry stare at me. Oh. Kyle. Right. I suppose he should be pissed. Cartman, somehow, is his friend after all. I suppose I should say something to defend myself, right? Isn't that what it's all about now? I grip the edge of the bed to keep from falling away into intoxicated haven, my head turning to his waiting stare. Hopefully something brilliant comes to mind when I speak.

"He pissed me off."

I don't know if that's the answer he wants, oh god it probably isn't but it's already said, right? Crap. I can't take it back now. He's gonna punch me right? That's what I would do. Shit. Crap. I wince as he makes some sort of movement, the drive to swing my fists long gone.

Instead, I find his arm around my shoulder. "I was gonna hit him. Damn it, let me hit him first before you decide to play baseball with people's skulls." He...doesn't sound too pissed off. Maybe I've done something right? Oh. Right. Of course I did. What did I do again? It doesn't matter, I've got Kyle here with me and we're alone. Was this my plan all along?

Quiet, self. You don't make plans. They're the source of way too much pressure in the end.

Ah what the hell? I throw my arm around his shoulder too, and he practically slides to the side and into me. Were were a hell of a lot closer in the kitchen anyways. I doubt this is too uncomfortable now. "...Don't you...gah, don't you ever get tired of it?"

I feel our heads bump together for just a moment, I twitch at the contact like a trigger. "Of what?"

A burp interrupts us; I lap at the flavor it leaves behind. "This...bullshit. Look at us, Kyle. Jesus Christ, we're fucking pathetic. We're the weak ones, right?"

"What the fuck are....what the fuck?"

Somehow this all makes sense to me as I throw my free hand up into my hair, gripping at my straw-colored blonde roots. "Ghn, we're the fucking sissies of our friends! Look at us! We should be out there having...shit, having a good time, y'know?"

I think he's confused. "...having a good time?"

Even though the repeat function is on for Kyle, I can't seem to shut up. "Be football stars, not scared little nerds! You're not like Stan; I'm not like Craig. We both get pissed off that Kenny and Clyde get dates before we do. And we can't pull off the asshole card-"

"I think you just did."

"Not the point." I sigh, letting myself fall back on the bed forgetting I have a grip on Kyle. He falls back with me, sprawling out in a manner that could make him my red-headed twin. "It's just...don't you ever want to be something more?"

He worms his arm out from under my shoulders, but it grips at the material of my shirt afterwards. He's thinking. Kyle just stares up at the textured white ceiling, like he's looking for the pictures to help tell this fucked up fable. "...all the time."

"Then why don't we?" I realize I've been raising my voice to it's usual squeaky tone, but my face is still contorting in seriousness and the occasional twitch. "What the hell's stopping us from being Stans or Clydes? Us. Fucking..." I slap at my chest for an example. "We're stopping us."

"Dude...I think I understand what you're saying." Good, because I sure don't. Jesus, what have I gotten myself into? "Like...we need to be something more."

He turns on the bed, laying on his side to face me. I figure I should mirror him and do the same; our faces are boring drunken holes into each other. He flips away his green hat, messy red curls flowing forth to match my tufts of untamed blonde. It's not a bad mix when you think about it. Some of it mixes as we scoot closer to each other, foreheads just a few inches short of touching. "Yeah," I breathe out slowly. "We need to be...Jesus I don't know."

We're linked by eyesight now. Like lovers, almost, if the notion could really come to me through the slowed-down thought process. But our two brains, for a moment, have enough left between them to act like one. "More than human."

He's brought it up this time; I know what he's talking about. I know that he's been having the same dreams as I have been. We should be scared after we wake up from them, but we aren't. We're excited. Seduced, really. That's got to count for something, right? We have each other for this, our secret obsession. "Oh god, do you think you can really...become one?" I lick at my lips for more hints of alcohol even though its on our breath.

His eyes lock with mine for a moment. "Stra....strang...weirder things have happened."

You know that feeling where everything's just sort of...okay? Nothing too elated or down, oh no nothing like that. Just okay. That's kind of the reaction I had when he said that. Hell, if you would have offered me coffee or alcohol right then and there, I would have turned it down. Jesus, I would have turned it down. "Yeah. Gah, I guess you're right." His hair was falling in his face as I spoke; somehow between that time my hand found its way over to brush away the auburn strands and tuck it behind his ear. Normal friends did that, right? "...so...do you wanna?"

He frowns for a moment. "Wanna do what?"

"Go do it. Go be skin-walkers." I whisper because, honestly, no amount of alcohol makes that sound sane. And I mean...we'd have to kill our closest blood family. The question lingers on the air. "Oh God...I'm sorry..." Nervously, I try to pull away. I'm stuck because Kyle's got his hand over my wrist, holding it there against his face. A face that was still frowning.

He's thinking, Jesus Christ. He's thinking about it! I feel myself twitch; I'm anxious about the way he's looking at me. Or at least I am until he gives a little chuckle. "Okay. You and me." There's something thick and heavy on my chest then, like a weight. A responsibility. But the ease to which he agreed only makes me...well, makes me want to ask more questions and turn around to look for hidden cameras. Craig didn't have cameras did he?

"W-what? That's it?"

Something's brushing against my ear, causing a feeling that shoots down my spine and right down to my groin. Holy shit on a sidewalk-encrusted biscuit. It's Kyle's hand, and the look on his face is absolute. "Yeah. I've...well, I've thought about it. Y'know?"

It makes perfect sense to me. Then again if you were to tell my swimming mind that two plus two now equals England, I'd tip my cheery hat to you and ask you to pass me a crumpet. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding, shuddering slightly. "Yeah. So...Jesus, we're really gonna do it. I didn't think that you'd say yes." We're getting closer now, scooting so that somehow I'm kind of draping my body over Kyle's. We're both just about the same build and height too. It's weird how we're just some sort of fucked up mirror versions of each other.

"Hmm," comes the reply as he bumps his forehead against mine. I don't know how it happened, but it feels nice to have this sort of bodily contact with someone. "I didn't think so either. Guess that makes us sorta..."

"Monsters," I whisper, eyelids drooping and for once it's not from sleep. It's from the feeling of total relaxation shuddering down my spine as Kyle's hands brush against the back of my neck. "We're not gonna be human anymore after that, right? We'll be...gah, we'll be fucking monsters." Our lips are almost touching, and I don't know how my hands ended up gripping at Kyle's hips. But we're hungry for one another, perhaps for just this one moment in our lives that we'll eventually come to forget with many other life experiences.

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, pink little lines that are parted to breathe through just a hint. I smell tequila and some sort of ale, along with a scent purely Broflovski in nature. "Tweek," he says softly, hinting towards something else other than our bid to damnation. "This means this is our last night as normal kids. You...you know?" He looks hungry as he arches against me on my best friend's bed, and I feel our hips meet together. Oh boy. What's his game?

It hits me. Ten seconds. He never took his drink.

Oh man. Jesus titty-smacking Christ. He can't mean...with me!? "Kyle...gah, are you sure you...y'know...?" We're both just slowly grinding against each other now, so slowly that at first you don't really notice until your partner has their nails firmly planted in your ass to keep you there. Lucky for me Kyle's hands are more occupied with my hair and my neck right then. I gulp. "Man, you wanna do that?"

The music outside picks up; the party's thrumming but it's our own heartbeats that set the rhythm. He nods, frowning slightly. "Have you...ever?"

"Ghn, no! Jesus, no." He lets out a groan as I push a careful hand under his shirt from the curiosity. The muscle and flesh underneath arches away from my touch at first, like the shock of something cold against your skin when you felt hotter than the sun itself. But he rolls back into it, his hands slowly going to my front and flicking with the buttons on my shirt. "...almost."

"With Craig?"

He lifts his arms as I begin to peel away his shirt, over his head it goes and with his hat it joins. He's able to unbutton my shirt, and it just kind of slides away to my right as we work on our respective zippers. "...his parents came home. Too much pressure." It's not a romantic thing, judging by the way we roll out of our clothing until we're wearing nothing but our underpants and our socks. Well, the underpants come off soon enough, and I find myself slowly massaging another guy's dick in my hand like it's the natural thing.

Our lips meet he pushes forward and pulls me down with a grasp of his hand in my blonde hair. It's pretty fiery too, kind of like his hair. All the different flavors of the night ignite then, and I taste him and whatever he's had to eat or drink just like he tastes me. He's sucking on my bottom lip, I lap at his teeth for entrance into his mouth. We're too inexperienced, too drunk, and too desperate to think things out and try to make our first times something special. It's going to be anyways, right? First and last time.

I'm a throbbing mess, my cock's pulsating against Kyle's thigh while his is warmed by my hand. Selfless, aren't I? Even I have needs, and soon I'm trying to palm both organs in one hand. He likes that, likes it when I push the head of my cock and his together, form them against my knuckles. It's what they do in porn, right? Not that I watch porn, mind you. Often. I groan, frowning as Kyle bites my lip and arches up. Well good for you man, but my hand's way too dry to be handling both dicks at once. Especially one without a foreskin; that's just something I haven't seen before. I pause, sitting up and looking around.

Ah. Nightstand. I crawl over Kyle and fumble with it. Where...? Ah. There it is. Just a simple little bottle of lube, unopened and in itself a virgin. Well, make that three barriers broken tonight as I smirk, feeling a bit high and mighty.

"Tweek," comes a moan that makes me harder. "What...what are you...?"

"Oh Jesus. I needed to grab something." I hush him with another kiss, laying the little bottle beside us as I force my body in position between his knees. I don't linger too long, needy thing he is. Hell, isn't there supposed to be some sort of foreplay before you get down to the nitty-gritty, as Clyde had put it to me one day? I'm not an expert in it. Hell, I just home that the light sucking I'm doing against his throat and collarbone is doing something for him. Whoa, it is. He arches up once more, some name slipping from his tongue as his cock rubs against my belly. And that makes him run his hands down my back, which, I gotta admit, feels pretty fucking fantastic at this point.

Weird. He's not as responsive on his nipples like the pornos make it look like. In fact I think he gets annoyed with me as I lap at the little nub, whining and running a hand through my hair. "Tweek..."

"Mmm." I let go with a wet suck, ghosting my hand against his stomach. It does another roll and he gasps. Or is it me that gasps because he's digging his hands into the sides of my hips, finding that one spot which makes me piston against him for just a second? I'm mixed up and I don't give a damn. But I apologize for my lack of experience with a flick of a bottle, sitting up and coating my hand with it for a moment before going back down to his own throbbing need.

And he likes it. He grips at the sheets as I start jacking him off once more, throwing his head back. Doesn't he even do this to himself? And those moans...goddamn. They're annoying in porn but like fucking fine wine when you're all alone. I drink that wine, giving the base of his dick a squeeze before running my thumb over the head. I like it like that, maybe he does too?

"Oh shit, Tweek!" He bites his bottom lip, and once again I add my own need into the mix and thrust us both together in my hand. Oh yeah, definitely better when slippery. He's biting at the bottom of his lip, eyes closed and basically mewling under my touch. Which is a hell of a thing to do, because right now my knowledge goes as far as insert, thrust, repeat until orgasm.

He's kissing me again, and he's pushing his tongue into my mouth. Damn. A free hand slinks down to join mine, speeding up my pumping hand to the point where even I let out a shuddering moan. Damn, maybe I'm the one that's too slow for this. I feel his lips on my lips, on my jaw, down my neck, bending and biting into my shoulder. "Jesus, don't bite it off," I growl, sliding my slick hand down between pale globes and rubbing against the little hole. If he wants to try to change the decision, then let him speak his piece.

"Ugh, fucking do it already man. You're killing me."

Oh god, the pressure's back on. He's waiting on me damn it! So maybe I'm a bit brash and impatient when I press into him with my finger, and we both show the almost immediate weirdness it is. He frowns, opening his eyes slightly. I frown because I have my finger in a guy's ass. God, that better be lube that comes back out. Maybe this was a horrible decision, right? I just stay still and silent, trying to read him to see if I've fucked up or have just fucked him in general.

He pressed down on my finger, thrusting slightly. "While we're young, man. Holy shit." I give a nod, kiss him again for apology, and begin to slowly finger him. The best I can, after all. And he's doing his best to try to react to me, wrapping his legs around me and presenting his entrance to me like it was made for a silver platter. And whoa. Bebe was right. Kyle's got a nice ass. I'm more of a chest person, but that's a pretty good-looking rear end. I lick at my lips as I push in another finger, trying to stretch him because there's no way my dick's gonna fit in there. His tightness might chop it off!

And I might have lost my sex drive at that thought right there, if there hadn't been a hand stroking me to keep my mind on the task at hand. Kyle's groaning, giving a gasp as I hit something that makes him clench around my fingers. "Shit, did that hurt?"

"I'm going to hurt you so goddamn bad your grand-kids will be ball-less if you stop one more time," comes the throaty threat, half a gasp and half a moan as I slip in a third finger, aiming once more for that spot that just makes him jump like there's lava underneath us instead of 200 thread count sheets. I make some sort of whine as he flicks his thumb over the head of my dick, the slickness of leftover lube and pre-cum adding to the intensity of growing closer to climax. I remove my fingers after I think he's good and ready, shooing away his hand and pumping my own dick until I'm satisfied with the stiffness.

It takes a couple of tries to really push up in him, but I'm sliding into Kyle and he's throwing his head back against the bed like some slut instead of my new-found friend. It's then I realize I'm actually panting, wheezing out someone else's name instead of Kyle's as I bury myself to the hilt. It's almost shameful, really, and once again I almost apologize.

"Oh god, Kenny!"

Guess I'm not the only one with secret loves. Seems all fair to me. I'm not calling out to Kyle, he's not calling out to me. But we know this moment is ours as I begin to piston, thrusting against him with the hope that he's feeling what I'm feeling as I try to pump his cock, hold up his ass, and find that one spot again which makes him jump and shiver in my grip. I feel his nails in my back, in my hair, on my face as he pulls me to his lips. Perhaps its best that we don't let the moans get to loud. After all, the door's not even locked and anyone could just walk in to see this. Our major plan wouldn't be ruined, but it would be a setback for later. But who cares? The people we want most ignored us, threw us aside. We have each other. He's got me, I've got him. We're pounding our bodies against each other, eyes closed and tongues tipping out every once in a while to lick at the other's entrance.

I'm not sure how long we have it. The music picks up to a techno beat; we can feel it through the walls and in the bed and in our dicks. I've got a good hold of it now through persistence, stroking it hopefully in time to my own thrusts. It's better than jacking off. The sex, I mean. It's a whole new feeling than what you're used to, and my eyes are already rolling into the back of my head. "Kenny..." I hear the whine, answering back with a twitch and a kiss. Maybe, in the light, he can pretend that my blonde hair belongs to his friend and not me. I can offer him that, right? But there's no way that I can even pretend for a moment that Kyle's the one I want most of all. The shock of red gives it all away.

And then for a moment, through the haze of alcohol and thrumming music, it wasn't about the fact that I was fucking Kyle. Or that he was letting me fuck him. Or that we were doing it with each other instead of those most dear to us. It was that we were doing this together, lips locked together and bodies slapping against one another. We're giving each other what's left of our sanity, our purity, and our humanity. A beautiful thing, our final farewell gift to each other.

It's enough to make me want to love him. But Craig's name slips instead, and the thought is nothing more than a sticky, sweaty ghost.


	3. Birth

I've never felt safer, despite the fact that I'm covered in my own seed, naked, and currently spooning with Tweek.

Now if you were going to tell me that, by the end of that day, I'd have lost my virginity to this twitchy blonde, I would have probably laughed you out of town. Not now. My head's still swimming, my limbs the consistency of pudding, and body shaky from the earlier act. I'm sure he's in the same position as me, with the way he noses the back of my neck and jitters just barely against me. His hand is splayed over my stomach, knees knocking against the back of mine, our legs intertwined underneath Craig's covers. The shitty part is that people keep walking in now, quickly closing the door as soon as they see us; my ass hurts and I'm sure I'm about to puke from the stress and alcohol and whatever fucking things are going through my mind exactly aren't helping.

We have to kill them. We have to.

"K-kyle...?" His warm breath tickles over my ear, and instantly I roll my shoulders to fight off the shiver. It's just nice, but...you know, it's really not what I want. Definitely welcome, don't get me wrong, but somewhere deep down we both know he's not the one I want next to me. Hell, I sure didn't hear him moaning my name out earlier, so no hard feelings. I slide my hand down to grasp at his, slipping my fingers in between his. He seems to understand, giving out a little hum and kissing my neck before we both shakily find our way out of the sheets and into messy, sticky clothing.

And as fate would seem to have it, we were caught. At least it wasn't with our pants down this time; Tweek was fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt as I searched for my hat when Craig Tucker decided to check up on us for his own amusement. Or whatever was going through his mind. No doubt someone had told him by now that he'd need to change his sheets to get rid of the evidence we both left behind.

Ah, there it was. Seething behind his usually-stoic face, that anger building up in his eyes and behind the new color flushing to his face. Well, well, well, someone's pissed that they didn't get to break in their own bed. For the moment I'm spared his wrath; Tweek is shoved back against the wall with a huff.

"What the fuck, Tweek?!" He says it like it was a betrayal of the greatest aspect. "What the fuck!?"

Half of me is surprised that the blonde shoved back, the other half knew it was coming. For the most part the alcohol's ran its course through his system, judging by the way he's no longer staggering. So I have only a little clue as to why he's looking just as angry and hurt, his fist balling up and shoulders hunching. "Just leave me the fuck alone," I hear him utter through grit teeth, bending slightly and grabbing my hat in his hands. "I'm not...gah, I'm not disturbing your party."

Craig practically rips the hat out of Tweek's grasp; I'm surprised the thing's still in one piece from the brutality. "No, you're just fucking Broflovski in my own goddamn room!" His finger points to me like the illegitimate lovechild of an affair Tweek just had, which is impossible because tonight's events just told me that the possibility of that happening without sperm-jacking is zilch.

"Oh leave him alone!" Tweek bats Craig's hand down and puffs up, looking as big as he can in some move to intimidate the black-haired sixteen-year-old. The fact that it worked, and that Craig falters for a moment, is amazing in itself. He regains ownership of my hat, tossing it back to me over his shoulder. In a hurry I put it on while Tweek just stares down his best friend with the most hate I think I've seen all night. And don't get me wrong or anything, but at that moment I was just indifferent to the fight. I might have been there, and I might have been the cause of it, but there was no way I was getting in the middle of it. Something in my mind was just telling me to get my clothes on and to get the fuck out of Dodge.

And as I chance a glance over, I see Craig staring back with the most bewildered look on his face. This is something I'd expect from someone...y'know, a little more passionate. So either Craig's on some sort of drug or this is really hitting him hard. Poor bastard. I slide on my jacket and step up to Tweek's side with a nudge. "Let's just go," I half-whisper, grasping at his shoulder and flashing an apologetic look to Craig. "Let's just go home, Tweek."

Craig steps back, face slowly morphing into something I'd expect to see on a broken-hearted bitter old man. At least he fits three out of the four at that moment as he turns on his hell, storming out and nearly knocking down Pip in the process. Tweek's tense shoulders sag, and I can tell that Craig means a lot to him from the little bit of wetness in his eyes. He wipes them on the back of his hand before grabbing mine, leading me out of Craig's room and back into the throng of the party.

Life seems to have gone on in our absence. Sans Craig, everyone's having a good time. Even Cartman, though the fat bastard's passed out with little Sharpie scribbles covering his face. Stan's giggling, finishing his dick-mustache rendition of a doodle across Cartman's upper lip as Kevin Stoley laughs in an uproar, Bebe hanging off his side. It's as if we were never here, really. My hand grasps Tweek's tighter as we brush past Token and Clyde and head out the door.

Freedom.

I'm sure that the cops are gonna be called by this hour; the noise coming from the Tucker house is enough to wake the dead. But inside that mass, we're normal. Out here, in the fog-covered night, we're aspiring to be more. Two boys up to no good, murder sloshing on the brain and relative insanity as a chaser. I laugh at that notion, letting my hand fall free of the blonde's before turning to him and sighing.

"Last chance. If we're really going through with this, we're gonna walk off of Craig's porch and not turn back. If not, we should head back inside and try to make it up to him." I cross my arms, waiting for him to say something about how much pressure I was putting on him, that this was a tough decision. If anything I was looking for any hesitation in him; to see if he would react like I wanted him to or if he was just as crazy as I was at that moment and felt eerily calm.

There's not even a twitch. He sighs, his eyes closing and looking like he's at peace for the first time in years. "We're gonna need an elder or someone who knows how to turn us. We're gonna have to..." He stutters then, like any normal insane person would at that moment. "...gonna have to, y'know. Grab Red." He opens his eyes then, giving a little twitch and setting one foot off of the porch.

I follow suit, giving a nod and blinking against the darkness, thanking the city of South Park that we have somewhat-decent street lights. "I know where he lives. Knowing him he's either gonna be there or at that waffle-house drinking shit coffee."

"No such thing exists," he utters, hopping off the porch with his back to the old days. I join him with a grin, bumping my hip against his. He lets out a little smirk, bumping back and leaning in to kiss my cheek. "I'm right behind you. Lead the way, Boogeyman."

I have to give a cheeky grin to that, pulling him by his arm into a run. We've only got until sunrise to get this done. There's no time to waste.

*~*

I've never seen Craig so fucking hurt in my entire life.

And this is me talking through the vodka. I've always kind of wondered why the hell he and I are best friends when it's obvious he'd rather be with Tweek than little ol' me. Which is why, for the whole course of his party, I've merely stuck close to Bebe and Token and nursed the Burnett's that I got from my mom. I'm sure she'll notice it missing in the morning when she opens the freezer and her favorite coffee-addition is nowhere to be found. Oh well, tonight was worth it. Or it was until Bebe stopped professing her love to me and moved to whatever guy was around her at that moment.

Women.

But all that's put behind me, and I tug on Token's shirt. "Dude, we should check up on Craig. He just came storming outta his room."

"Tweek's probably still drunk," he tells me while attempting to roll his first joint. "I'd be pissed too. That JD was his." I shake my head, tugging him again as Kyle and Tweek brush past us and head outside.

"Not like that, dude. I mean like I think something went _down_," I say in a low tone which always meant I was serious. Or at least I hoped that's the tone I had. "You know how he is about that guy."

I hand him the lighter and he thanks me with a knuckle-bump, holding in the smoke for a few good seconds before blowing it back in my face with a long sigh. "Tucker's fucking crazy over Tweek, everyone knows it. He probably just overreacted cause he caught them cuddling or whatever."

"They just walked past us," I remind him as he offers me the joint while licking his lips. "He and Kyle were holding hands." And I gave him the eye which can only be read by another best friend, the look which could say what the English language couldn't express.

I take a puff as he leans forwards, taking a sip of his Blue Moon. "Wait...you don't think?"

"Oh yeah," I wheeze out, coughing as I pass it back to him and squeeze my eyes shut so they won't water up so bad. "I bet you anything they did it on his bed too."

"Who did what?" Wendy saunters over, and I give her a wink and pat the wall next to me to invite her over. "Hey Token."

"Sup," he says with a nod, almost looking like he wants to ditch the joint to avoid any verbal yakking from our resident goody-two-shoes. Wendy's either very forgiving or very smashed at this point, because all she does it eye it and shrug, looking between the both of us for an answer. This is very bad news, because we both know what happens when you tell one of our class's girls anything. Rumors, lies, and slander. Really, its what makes them fun, but only when the story's not about you or someone you know. Token and I stare at each other in that sort of best friend gaze again, as if we're mentally arguing over whether or not to tell her.

"Fellers! Hey, hey fellers!" Our moment's totally cock-blocked by Butters, who runs over looking like he's just been told Jesus Christ is actually a woman. "Did you hear!? Kyle and Tweek, well...they done did the dirty!"

Now Butters is a good kid, but it's moments like these where I just want to smack the shit out of him. Wendy's drawn in now; there's no way that this is staying a secret. If it was one to begin with anyways. "Really?" I hear her ask, eyebrows practically raising just judging from her voice. "Where did you hear that from?"

"Well, y'see," He starts off, trying not to fall over on his face, "Craig kinda kicked me outta the bathroom just a while ago. Poor fella, I thought he was gonna go and puke y'know. And I really had to go to the bathroom, so I waited outside." He pauses, bringing up his hands for emphasis. "Jimmy gets a call and goes into the bathroom with Craig, and I overhear Craig telling Jimmy that he caught Tweek and Kyle in bed together."

"No way," I hear Token say. Oh great, now he's drawn into this little gossip story. Well, what the hell, I might as well jump on board so I don't end up being left behind. I nod, waving my hand at Butters to get him to tell more. "C'mon Butters, you're just pulling our legs."

"Aw shucks, I bet you it's true! There's gotta be proof it happened in Craig's room." He's staring at the ground now out of nervous habit, bumping his fists together and looking like an outright faggot. I shake my head, glancing at Wendy and Token for any input.

Wendy's need for gossip seems to be sated, but her curiosity's going to be the death of the human race at this point. "Come on guys, let's go check it out and see if they did. You have got to be just a little curious."

"No," I lie, crossing my arms but heading towards Craig's room anyways. "Let's just get this over with. I wanna smoke some more of Token's stuff."

"Moocher," I hear him grumble at my side as the four of us brush past a few other classmates and head to Craig's room. The area around it is relatively quiet, creepy almost. I use the toes of my shoe to push the door open, hoping to God that Craig doesn't see and decide that we're the ones going to get our asses handed to us because he can't keep his temper bottled up for long. Immediately we're hit with the smell of musk and sweat, and I want to pull a Stan and wretch right there.

"Smells like sex in here."

"No duh dip-shit," I hear Wendy mutter, pushing past me and walking over to the messy pile of sheets once known as Craig's bed. That's surprising; she must be a bit more than plastered. And I don't mean on alcohol. She's brave though, I give her that much as she pulls down one of the covers to inspect it.

She jerks her hand away, shaking it like it's on fire. "Oh sick! There's fucking cum on the bed!"

Token clicks his tongue as I shake my head in disbelief. You don't have sex on your friend's bed, especially not your love interest's bed unless it's with him. Tweek, you're a fucking asshole. "Ho-ly shit," I hear my friend mutter while Butters remains quiet. "You weren't lying."

"Well I told you I wasn't," he retorts, almost like he's trying to stand up for himself while feigning innocence. That's the thing with Butters; we're not sure if he's passive or passive-aggressive. "See? Th-there's even a little bottle on the bed."

"Lube," I say with a scowl, eyeballing the little bottle and wondering where the hell it came from. "What the hell were they thinking?"

"That's what I'd like to know," comes a familiar nasally voice that makes the four of us jump out of our skins. We all turn and find a very calm-looking Craig, glaring at us through red-rimmed eyes. They're not the kind of eyes you get from being stoned, however. Rather than ask if he'd been crying, or ask anything at all, I just give a little laugh.

The first thing to do is try to explain what the fuck we're doing in his room in the first place. "W-we heard noises, and-"

He flips me off, and immediately I shut up. If he wasn't in a bad mood already I didn't want to be the cause of his psychotic mental episode. "Never mind. Where are they?"

"Who?"

He glances over to Wendy, almost flipping her off as well. I think his hand's just on autopilot; it's really the only thing that makes him who he is at that moment. "Tweek and Broflovski. Where are they?"

"They went outside," I hear Token say as he takes another puff, hogging his joint all to himself for the moment and exhaling through his nostrils. Craig mutters something, holding his head in his hands before looking back up at us with a sigh.

"God damn it. I have to get them back here before Tweek ends up hurting himself." I know he doesn't give a damn about Kyle, but Wendy does and she gives a nod before holding Butters by the shoulders and leading him out. "I'll grab Stan and Kenny," she mentions to Craig in as much seriousness as an intoxicated mind can offer. "We'll go and look for them, don't worry."

Which, really, that's the worst advice you can offer anyone. Telling someone "don't worry" is a surefire way to _make_ them worry. And Craig's already looking like a wreck without your help, Wendy. Thanks but keep that comment to yourself. I clap my hand on his back, watching him move away to grab his hat and coat and head out to our little rag-tag search party.

Looks like Kenny's sobered up a bit; he can stand on his own without Stan holding him up. They both look like lost little kids as Wendy explains the situation to them in detail. As much as we love Tweek, I'm sure they love Kyle in the same way. They're like our respected mascots. They define us by being completely different from who we are. In a way, minus the way Kenny dies all the time and Craig's obsession with that damn Red Racer show, we're just too normal to be tolerated. Stan looks at Craig, trying not to sway due to the fact that we're all still pretty boozed up.

"Is it true?"

Craig, to no one's surprise, flips him off. It's to be expected. "That's what I saw. But we need to get them back here before they go and do something stupid." He leans on the table, glancing over to the still-going party and giving a look that says "fuck it, the place can get robbed for all I care." Token's right, Craig tends to go a bit overboard when it comes to Tweek. If that's what love's all about, I'm not sure I'm ready for it right now.

"Alright," he begins, tapping his fingers on the wood of the table. "Let's start with where they'd go."

"Home," Kenny says through his parka. The voice is still a bit muffled, but over the years we've all begun to really understand what he says underneath all of that clothing.

Token shakes his head, rubbing out the joint in the ash-tray Craig's Dad uses. "No way dude. They're both drunk. Kyle's mom would castrate him and Tweek'd be too afraid that he was gonna get disowned for coming home drunk."

"'Kay," Craig mutters while mentally crossing off those places from the list of places to check. "They're probably both still together...Tweek's gonna want coffee eventually. Maybe the 24-hour pancake house?"

Stan gives a nod, remembering the place from his little stint as a goth. "That could be a place to start. Where else? Kyle doesn't like coffee so he might not be there for long."

"Tweek might follow," Wendy reminded Craig so that he could focus on finding them both. We all know he's a little biased, but prodding the bull at this point is just cruel. Not to mention the fact that it's prodding a fucking bull, and he has no problem in lashing out at us over this.

"I know," he says irritably. "Just hang on a minute I'm thinking."

Butters stutters for a moment. Honestly, I kind of forgot he was even here to begin with. Why he's so interested in helping is beyond me, though I have to admit that he's kind of too nice a guy to just not do anything about it. "Well, what about a quiet-like place? Stark's Pond maybe?"

"They'll know it's one of the first places we'll check," I retort, really just trying to reason through it all.

Wendy clicks her tongue, shifting her weight and her hips at the same time. "Don't rule it out though. Eventually they're going to want to be found. We should still check it out."

Craig gives a nod, hands in his pockets as he glances around the room in his thought process. "The bus depot."

"Really?" Stan gives a shrug. "I mean, do you really think they'd skip out of town just because-"

"Not because of that but because it's open right now. It's almost two in the morning," Craig reminds us with an irritable snap. "If they're not going home they're going to be someplace that's open. Any other ideas?"

"We could check downtown," Kenny suggests, scratching at his hair and getting dandruff flakes everywhere. It's disgusting but we have more important matters to attend to. "There's a bunch of places open down there.

"Unless they have fake ID's I don't think we'll find them in a bar," Wendy ponders, to which I give a nod to. "Probably in one of the other 24-hour restaurants down there."

"There's the back of the library," Stan adds in, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "I think that it's unlocked anyways. Kyle and I used to sneak in there back in middle school to mess with the librarian."

"Yeah, she was a bitch."

"Focus, Token," Craig reminds. "Alright, so we check downtown and the faggy library as well. If we don't come up with anything, call me. We'll meet up behind the Elementary school and decide what to do then. If you find them, call me. Anything, just call me." Craig's tough guy exterior cracked a little bit then, and we see just how sickly worried he is over Tweek. It's really kind of sad, when you think about it.

"Don't worry Craig. We'll get them both back," Wendy says with a raised eyebrow, wrapping an arm around Stan's and motioning for Butters to go with them and Kenny. Which leaves me, Craig, and Token for the other search party. Our cellphones are on, and those of us not too inebriated to drive have their keys out and ready to roll.

The hunt is on.

*~*

The plank of wood cracks nicely over the back of Red's head; his body slumps against the patio of his home in an instant.

Jesus, I hope I didn't knock him out too hard. "Grab his legs," I motion to Kyle, quickly picking up his shoulders and starting to drag him off before his parents can notice the commotion from downstairs. That is, if his parents care at all. He stays out all night and has some of the freakiest friends I've ever seen, I doubt a strange noise is going to alarm them. Good news for us, bad news for our little friend.

By the time he comes to, we've got him in the back of my little Toyota just a bit past Stark's Pond into the Colorado woodland. Usually I'm too nervous to drive out this far this late, the deer are notorious for suicide-bombing people's cars. He makes a loud noise, kicking his feet against the spare tire in the bed of the truck which makes Kyle turn his head and lick his chapped lips. "Jew Scouts knots are better than Boy Scouts," he says smoothly, probably admiring the handiwork of the twine rope binding currently keeping Red from just jumping out and making a mad break for freedom. I don't know if it's meant to be an insult or just a simple statement, but whatever it is has him smiling and that's enough to make me chuckle.

When we can't see the lights of South Park anymore I shut off the engine, leaving the headlights on and opening the cab door to the cool air. Most of the drunkenness is gone by now, but that sense of self-high was still flowing mighty strong in my veins. Kyle joins me, flashlight in his hand as we both make our way back to the bed and flip down the back to gaze at our prize.

I'm not surprised to find him pissed. I mean, I would be too if I woke up with a splitting headache in the middle of ass-fucking nowhere with two people I never would have expected to kidnap me. Then again when I think about myself being kidnapped, me being pissed off is the last thing I imagine I would be. More like a scared little twit. So either Red's just insane or this has happened to him before. Perhaps a little of both. His past issues aren't our concern now as I loosen the gag around his mouth and let him finally get a word in about the matter.

"I'm not going to squeal like a pig for you."

"We know," Kyle snaps with a roll of his eyes. "That's what a conformist would do. Just shut up and tell us what we want to know."

He even flips his hair out of his face, despite the fact that this is anything less than friendly. "And how the hell am I supposed to know?"

Then Kyle does something I don't think I think he'd do. He grabs at the black-and-red dyed strands and yanks him out of the bed of the Toyota in a single move, the goth yelping from the unexpected violence and sputtering against the Colorado dirt face-down. Kyle must have mentally lost it on the drive; all I see is an animal. And that notion excites me, since that's exactly the way we want to be. I watch as Kyle saunters over to him, a hand on his hip and the other hand flashing the flashlight directly into Red's makeup-covered face.

"How do we do it? What's the ritual?"

"Are you fucking psycho?! I have no idea what you're talking abo-"

I don't even wince as Kyle's foot uppercuts Red's chin, flipping the bound boy over onto his back with a stream of crimson flowing down his nose and mouth. I'm panting and just watching the little streams flow down his pasty skin in the glow of my headlights. Blood. This is going to be a life of blood. Am I really okay with that?

"Skin-walkers," Kyle says with a bit of a growl in his voice. He circles our captive for a moment, gripping at his arms and glancing back at me every once in a while for input. I've got nothing really to add; he's doing fine on his own. "You know the ritual to become one, and you're going to use it to turn us into them."

Even I get a little upset when he turns over and stares at us like we're crazy. We're not. We're just determined. But it further agitates me when he just starts laughing, eyes wide and hair a matted mess against his crimson life. "Oh my God, you're serious. You're way fucking serious about a fucking fairytale!" He closes his eyes, resting the back of his head on the ground. He doesn't see us as a threat yet. "Well you might as well off me then, kid. I'm not telling you a thing."

"You'd like that too much," I mutter, looking in the back of the Toyota for the tire iron. "Maybe when we're done with you."

Kyle arches an eyebrow, eyeballing me carefully. "What are you gonna do?"

"Jesus, don't start with the pressure." The heavy thing scrapes along the bed eerily, almost falling out of my hand and landing on my toes as I heft it up with both hands. "I'm just gonna give him what he wants most."

Ah. Kyle's got it, and he lets a smirk ease its way across his face like he himself was the Cheshire Cat. "Life is only pain?"

Red looks up in the first human emotion I've seen on him that's genuine. Fear is something you can't fake very well. I raise the tire iron over my head with a great swing, smashing it down as hard as I can on his knees. He yowls in agony, writhing in his spot and screaming his fool head off. No one's going to hear him though; it's why we chose this area to bring him to. What's a man's worst fear than being beaten to death in the mountains by the locals?

I pant, leaning against the metal bit and watching him curl up to try to relieve what I've done to his kneecaps. "Life is pain."

"They're not real!" he screams back at us as we watch him with mild interest. "Jesus Christ, they're only made up!"

Kyle takes the tire iron from me for a moment, slapping it against his hand and pointing at Red's skull threateningly. "Then you better pray that they are. Now do you believe that we're serious? Are we conformist now?"

He lets out another pain-filled shriek as the tire iron's whacked against his ribcage; I see blood starting to seep from that wound. Maybe he's got a cracked rib now. At the very most, some internal bleeding. Kyle waits another moment, looking very cross and sharing that look with me."

"He's not gonna talk."

I sigh, looking back to the tool kit in the pickup with interest. "He better. We could start cutting off his toes. That's painful enough to get his attention."

He leans against me, kissing at the base of my neck while humming his disagreement. "We already have his attention and all he's doing is bitching. I say we start gouging out his eyes."

"That could work. Start real slow..." I trail off as Kyle sucks at the flesh on my neck for a moment, shaking him off. We have a job to do. He gives a pout, but I just have to shake my head and deal with it later. "One at a time. I have a bunch of rusty screwdrivers."

Red finally seems to get the picture as he stutters out something almost unintelligible. We both glance to him at the same time, staring him down for a repeat. "...I-I said I have to do the chant. Then you have to perform the sacrifices." His breathing is labored due to his new injuries, but he's taking us seriously this time.

"The real chant," I say with a bit of a scowl. "Gah, not anything fake. You'll be wishing you could die but we won't let you if you try to fake us out." He gives a nod, his tongue dancing across bloodstained lips as he begins.

In a way it's like a song. Something filthy, and he stares at us as he chants like his life depends on it. In a way, you expect a bolt of lighting, a gust of wind, something stereotypical right out of the movies to come crashing down to add to the thickness of the situation. But there's nothing. At least, at first there's nothing.

It's licking at your heels at first, like tongues of flame that leave you chilled instead of burned. And in a way it's a pleasant feeling, the back of my skull buzzing more than I've ever had it before. Not caffeine, not coke, not even weed could measure up to this feeling just slowly bubbling in my cranium. Before I know it the flames are dancing up my legs, scratching at my arms as the chant grows louder and more intense. The pleasant feeling's starting to overstimulate, and I'm panting and gripping at my head and arching against an invisible lover.

I can't even open my eyes as the flames start to hurt, running up my thighs and stomach and grasping tightly at my windpipe. I'm not even sure how I ended up on the ground in the first place, but I think I'm trying to scream as I feel something otherworldly licking and whispering in my ear. I instantly recognize the voice; it's mine. But the words are in a language I've never heard; like speech turned on backwards but whispered in sharp rises of pitch and decibel. I can't breathe, I'm choking. Oh God, I can't breathe!

And then it grips at my heart. Like whatever it is is dissecting me slowly over the span of lifetimes and taking it own sweet time in ripping out my heart. I feel faint; feel it slowing down despite the fact that I don't think it's in my chest anymore. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Jesus Christ I'm dying; I feel that my body's having a seizure but my mind is so crystal clear like an out-of-body experience that I'm not sure what the hell's going on.

Ba-dump.

Ba-dump.

And then it's gone. The pain, the thing killing me slowly, it's all gone. I hear nothing, no screaming. Not even my own breathing. I think I'm floating in a sea of black, and my instincts tell me I should be frightened. Whatever this place is, it's not limbo.

_Are you unhappy, little one?_

It's my voice. "Yes..." I answer back in monotone, because I know I'm supposed to answer. I feel an embrace, I feel myself being held close to something rough and...evil. I open my eyes but still see only black. Whatever it is, it does not want me to see it.

I feel it stroke my hair softly, cooing in my ear with what I imagine must be a jagged-toothed maw. _We can make you happy again. We can make you into what you want to be. This is what you want, right?_

I sigh out, shuddering against this touch like a virgin. "Yes."

It laughs in my ear, then I feel it merging with me like a warm blanket. It's rooting itself deep inside, nestling in with my organs and bones. _Then you know what to do. Wake up, Skin-walker._

"Wake up."

When my eyes open, everything seems to be the exact same way it was before. But I'm on the ground and I taste bile in my mouth, and sure enough there's a puddle of puke next to me on the ground. But nothing hurts, nothing feels wrong. Which is in itself wrong. I'm on my feet in no time, looking over at Kyle who seems to be doing the same thing and brushing off a few twigs from his clothing.

"What the hell...you aren't supposed to be a-alive!" Red seems perpetually freaked out by this event, and with a roll of my shoulders I snap my attention to him.

"Did you try to kill us?"

I think he fears another beating with the tire iron. Perhaps this is why he's so quick to answer with: "No! Y-you just both...had seizures. You've been there for a good hour, I thought you were-"

Kyle arches his eyebrow, and for a moment I know its different now. In the dark, his eyes are glowing. They have night-shine when they shouldn't; catching on the glow of my dying headlights. He blinks and stretches out, looking over to me in a knowing manner.

I nod. "They're with us. We don't need him."

He gives a shrug, waltzing over to me and nuzzling my cheek affectionately. But now I'm reading his body language, watching the way he slinks around. He's without form, without grace. We won't survive long if we don't complete the first part of the ritual. "We'll deal with him later. Sun's going to be up soon. We'll meet back here." I grasp at the back of his head and kiss him, the impulse to do so stronger than anything I've ever felt before.

He licks at my teeth with a hum, pulling away with a bite to my lip and shifting his focus onto Red. "He's not going anywhere with that fucked up knee. Stick him in the cab." I nod and we both circle our captive, and he looks up at us with wide eyes. He's prey, my mind snaps to that conclusion and I lick my lips and teeth and grin at him. "Until later, my friend." He yelps as we yank him up roughly, watching more of his blood pool on the ground before I open the door and we throw him in. I grab my keys and stuff them in my pocket for good measure, watching as we're bathed in no light except what shines from the little sliver of moon above.

Kyle gives a laugh, watching as he struggles with trying to get free. "He won't get out."

"I know."

For some reason we're both grinning, watching each other curiously as we curl our hands and crouch on the ground. It's too synchronized to be coincidence that we seem to be able to mimic each other so well, right down to the way we breathe and blink. I feel my muscles tensing as I prepare to dart off into the night, possibly to the last time I will ever see my parents again.

Break out the banners. We're going home.


End file.
